Shackled

by Ray Garton

  WANTED: white pup, female, trained. #746-22

  ANNOUNCEMENT: Party, NFM, drinks, food, juice, delivery, STN g-fied, all welcome but non-trained, RSVP. #207-84

  TO #1120-421: :(***

  WANTED: small black pup, male, skinny, trained or disciplined, loid services, prmnt. #634-12

  WANTED: light bitch, good shape, trained. #1502-38

  ANNOUNCEMENT: :( fmly, old bitch. #0971-56

  ANNOUNCEMENT: training, black pup, female, all >:) trainers welcome, RSVP. #666-13

  TO #552-09: :( cl. fnd., ->:)

  TO #634-12: msg received — >possibilities. #666-13

  WANTED: yellow pup, male, untrained. #1099-62

  TO EVERYONE: new. STN has liberated me. Thnx to #666-13, #7122-40, n all involved. >:)!!!

  ANNOUNCEMENT: >:) srvc. north. All welcome. #1962-122

  ANNOUNCEMENT: —>:) working hard now. 2. any asstnc welcome. #666-13

  WANTED: white bitch, black stud, untrained. #229-73

  TO #1502-38: msg received—>possibilities. #666-13

  "Log it?" Rob asked.

  "All of it." Garner said, looking at the screen. "Because I think you're probably gonna have to explain it to us. How much time do you have?"

  "I think I've got enough time if you want it on disk."

  Once again, his fingers breezed over the keyboard. In a few seconds, he cut off the telephone connection, hit the keys some more, then nodded at the screen and said, "Okay, there it is."

  They stared. Their eyes were locked on to the screen as if their very lives depended upon it.

  "There's nothing here," Garner said.

  "What do you mean?" Rob asked.

  "Well, what makes you think this is a Satanic network, for crying out loud? None of this makes a bit of sense."

  "For one thing, I've spent a lot of time in there and I've seen a lot worse than this. What we've got here is pretty tame, but it's the middle of the day. You sneak in here in the middle of the night and they don't rely so much on their codes. They get a little bold and it becomes pretty obvious that they're talkin' about some really sick sh — I mean, some sick stuff."

  "You know what all this means?" Bent asked.

  "Well, I don't really know ... but after the time I've put in, I think I've come up with some pretty good guesses."

  Ethan put his arm around the boy's shoulders and said, "My friend, I think I would take your guesses much more seriously than I would the guesses of most. So I hope you'll share them with us."

  Rob looked up at the pastor with a surprised smile. "Really? Well, then ... just tell me what you want to know."

  "Pup," Ethan said. "What does that mean."

  "Well, I think it means a kid," Rob said. "Y'see, sometimes they say pup, sometimes they say bitch or stud ... like they're talkin' about dogs, or something, but — "

  "How do you know they're not?" Coll asked.

  Rob looked at Coll for a long moment, eyebrows raised high, then said, "Because what would people talking about dogs have to hide? Did you know that there's a computer network for showdog people? You know, the people who train their dogs and take them to shows? I've gotten into that network, too, and those people don't use codes. They just talk to each other, y'know? No strange symbols or abbreviated words, like this one. They've got nothing to be ashamed of."

  "Even so," Ethan said, "what's led you to believe that this network is definitely Satanic?"

  "The symbols, the things they write. Like I said, this is tame compared to what I've seen before, late at night. Sometimes, when it's late, they come right out and say things. And somebody usually scolds 'em for it, too. But even when they don't, some of this stuff is pretty obvious."

  "Like what?" Bent asked.

  "Like this thing here."

  He placed a finger to the screen, pointing to this symbol:

  >0

  "What does that mean?" Coll asked.

  "Well, see, usually, on the dating and sex networks, they use a similar symbol for a smiling face, to show that something has made them happy. Like this."

  On a small notepad, he drew this symbol:

  :)

  "See," Rob said, turning the pad, "if you turn it on end, it's a smiling face ... the eyes, the smiling mouth. See what I mean?" "So, what does the other one mean?" Ethan asked. "Well, look at this." On the pad, Rob drew this:

  >:)

  Then he turned the pad again.

  Rob said, "A smile, two eyes ... and horns. Who do you think that represents?"

  They stared at the pad with wide eyes.

  "Dear lord," Ethan breathed. "Satan. It represents Satan."

  Rob nodded. "That's what I figured, too. But there's other stuff here. Like this, look at this." Rob moved his nail-bitten finger to the very top of the screen. "Pup. Like I said, it sounds like these people are selling dogs, just like that network for people who take their dogs to that Westminster show, y'know? But they're not dogs. I figure they're kids."

  "You mean children?" Ethan asked. "Human children?"

  Rob nodded.

  Bent leaned toward him and, frowning, asked, "You mean they're buying and selling children?"

  "I think so. Pups are kids. Bitches and studs are older, like maybe teenagers. Or maybe even adults."

  "What about this trained and untrained stuff?" Garner asked. "What do you think that means?"

  "I'm not sure. I'm guessing that some want kids who've been trained, y'know, like brainwashed, to go along with things — y'know, to worship Satan, or do whatever it is these people do — or who're just disciplined, like it says here — " He pointed to another place on the screen. " — which probably means that they've just been taught to do as they're told, whether they like it or not, and not cause trouble. That's what discipline has always meant to me, anyway."

  "What about this?" Coll asked, pointing to the screen:

  TO #1120-421: :(***

  "What does that mean?"

  "Look," Rob said, "I want you to remember that I don't really know ... I mean, for sure, what any of this means. I'm just guessing from what I've seen on this and a lot of other networks, okay? But this ... well, I showed you the smiling face and the devil face, but this, I think, is a frowning face. See? The eyes above the frown? I think that means someone's in trouble. Sometimes people announce they're in trouble, sometimes they're being warned they're in trouble. Like this one here, for example. I think that someone who doesn't want to be identified is warning #1120-421 that they're in trouble."

  "What about these?" Ethan asked, pointing to the three asterisks.

  "Well, on the sex networks and date networks, those mean kisses. I think the unidentified person is probably wishing #1120-421 well. Somethin' like that, y'know?"

  "And this?" Bent asked, pointing:

  TO #552-09: :( cl. fnd.,->:)

  "Well," Rob said, "you've got the frowning face — a warning of trouble — and I think the abbreviation stands for 'close friend.' After that, there's the smiling devil face, but with this dash in front of it ... like a minus sign, or negative sign. In other words, I think someone is trying to tell #552-09 that they have a close friend who knows about his or her religious beliefs, a close friend who is anti-Satan. A close friend who could get #552-09 into big trouble."

  They thought about that silently for a while.

  "And all this here, what's this?" Bent asked, pointing:

  Party, NFM, drinks, food, juice, deliver, STN g-fied ...

  Bent continued, "They're having some kinda party and, um, well, NFM, I don't know what the hell that is, but drinks and juice? Why mention drinks twice?"

  "They didn't," Rob said. "Let's start at the beginning. These are Satanists, right? So a party ... well, I don't think we're talking about pretzels, beer, and poker, y'know? I figure it's one of their ... I don't know, rituals or something. Now, NFM was a tough one. That took me a few days. But I think I got it. Remember, they're Satanists, and the only thing I could think of that would make any sense with Satanists was ...
Next Full Moon. I mean, think about it. The full moon is always significant to groups like this."

  "How do you know?" Coll asked.

  "Oh, well, um ... I did a little reading up on it."

  Garner slapped Rob's arm and said, "Dammit, kid. I'm supposed to be the encyclopedia — you're the computer whiz!"

  "What about the other stuff in this announcement?" Bent asked, just a bit impatiently, eager to hear what the boy had to say.

  "Well, the drinks and food, that doesn't sound like anything unusual ... just refreshments," Rob said with a shrug. "But the juice ... well, I think that's something a lot ... uglier."

  "Such as?"

  "Look at what we've got so far. Some kind of ritual taking place during the next full moon ... then we got this juice and delivery, and this STN g-fied thing. Now, think about this. A Satanic ritual ... they've already mentioned food and drinks, so ... what other kinda liquid do you think they'd have on tap at a party like that?"

  Their eyes darted around as they glanced at one another.

  "Dear god," Ethan breathed. "Blood."

  After a thick pause, Rob said, "Some of these Satanist people have a thing for drinking blood during their rituals. Sometimes they even mix it with urine. They also have a thing for sacrificing people at these rituals. And that's what I think delivery means."

  "What led you to that?" Coll asked.

  "What comes right after it: STN g-fied. The STN was easy. That's just another version of the little smiling, horned devil face. It's an abbreviation for Satan. G-fied, I think, means 'glorified.' Sacrifice is a way of glorifying Satan ... delivering a soul to him. It's also a way for the Satanists to gain power."

  Garner said, "I think you did more than a little reading, didn't you, kid?"

  For the first time since he'd sat down at the computer, Rob blushed and bowed his head a little.

  Ethan spoke very slowly, his voice dripping with disbelief, when he said, "You mean ... to tell me that ... on a computer network as legal as bubblegum ... these people can plan murders and sell little children?"

  "And adults, too," Rob answered.

  "This here," Coll said, pointing to the second WANTED entry, "what's loid services? And this ... well, it looks like another abbreviation."

  "The prmnt. is for permanent."

  "Meaning what?" Bent asked.

  "The services are permanent. It's not a rental, or anything. This 'small black pup, male, skinny, trained or disciplined' won't be coming back home."

  "Because ... ?" Ethan whispered.

  "Because, if I'm right, loid services means that poor skinny little black kid is being bought to appear in a movie. A snuff film."

  "What makes you think that?" Coll asked quietly.

  Before Rob could respond, Garner said, with a smile and raised brows, "Celluloid!"

  They all turned to him suddenly and his pleased expression melted away. "Well, jeez, at least let me get a few answers in."

  "Yeah, you're right, Garner," Rob said with a nod. "See, back in the old days, film prints were always on celluloid. They don't use it anymore because it deteriorates and it's pretty combustible. But even though it's long gone, to a lot of film buffs, the word 'celluloid' still means movies. Loid is just a shortened version of that word."

  "There's one number," Bent said slowly, staring at the screen, "that comes up on here ... let's see, one, two ... four times, just in this short space."

  "Yeah, I was getting to him. #666-13," Rob said.

  "Do you know for sure that's it a male?" Coll asked.

  "Uh-uh, just a guess," Rob answered. "This guy responds to people's requests, answers their questions. And he's, almost always there. Not only that, he shows up on other networks like this one. These people all seem to ... well, turn to him. Look at this." He pointed to the screen:

  new. STN has liberated me. Thnx to #666-13

  "This looks like someone even thanked him for their introduction to Satan," Rob said.

  "So you think he's important?" Ethan asked.

  "That's my guess. Especially with that number."

  Ethan nodded. "The mark of the Beast."

  "And thirteen," Rob added, "a very superstitious number. Bad luck, that kinda thing."

  "Rob, can you get us more of this stuff?" Bent asked. "From this network and the others like it? I will personally pay you twice your normal fee, because we need it now, right away, which probably means a lot of work for you."

  He shrugged. "Sure. Long as Garner doesn't mind if I take over his computer for a while."

  Garner sighed and waved a hand. "Sure, why the hell not. You'll probably end up taking over my job next." He pointed a finger at Coll. "But he'll never be able to feed you as well as I can. This kid can't make a decent sandwich to save his mother. With whom he still lives, by the way. And don't you forget it." He wheeled away from the desk where Rob sat before the computer, already beginning his task. "And by the way, there are more sandwiches left, so you might as well eat 'em while wonderboy here works his damned genius."

  They moved away from the desk, preparing to wait as long as it might take ...

  4

  As Rob sat at the computer, working and muttering quietly to himself as if no one else were in the room — even though they were all talking quietly with one another — the light outside the windows dimmed. After a while, Bent and Ethan went out for a walk as they waited, while Coll and Garner went into another room and talked as they watched some television with the volume low.

  When Bent and Ethan returned, Rob's fingers were still clattering away at the computer and the sun was gone completely. The only light left in the windows was that of the flashing signs and the lights of cars on the streets outside.

  Suddenly and without warning, Rob turned to them in the chair and said, "I'm making a copy of all this stuff for each of you. That way you won't have to huddle over the screen together. 'Kay?"

  "Thank you, Rob," Bent said as all the others nodded and agreed.

  When the printer was done, Rob separated all the pages, arranged them properly, and handed them out to Bent, Ethan, Coll, and Garner. Then Rob yawned, grabbed a handful of potato chips from the bowl, and flopped into a chair, eating them slowly, one at a time, returning to his slouch, his bowed head ... his usual self.

  Meanwhile, the others pored over the pages that had been handed to them, the expressions on their faces changing so rapidly that they almost looked like cartoon characters: first amazement, then shock, then fear, then disgust, then shock again ... but mostly fear. Occasionally, they lifted their heads and exchanged disbelieving glances, lips parted, brows frowning above widened eyes.

  As he watched them, Rob picked up the last sandwich and began eating it with gusto. Mouth full, he said, "Yeah, I figured once you understood some of the code, once you got the idea, you' d see just how creepy it all is."

  Ethan raised his head and stared at Rob with his mouth turned down at the ends and his eyes flashing with anger beneath lowered brows. He spoke firmly, his voice low. "Rob. How long have you known about this? How long have you been tapping into these networks?" A moment passed with no response because Rob was chewing, and Ethan clenched his fists around the edges of the stack of pages, making them wrinkle and crackle, and bellowed in his most resonant pulpit voice, "How long?"

  His booming voice startled everyone, but most of all Rob, who dropped his sandwich into his lap and kicked the coffee table as if a doctor had hit his knee with a reflex hammer.

  "How long have you known?" Ethan asked, quietly this time, through clenched teeth.

  "Uh-uh-um, I've been doin' this about, um, muh-maybe a y-year or so, a year and a half ... maybe even, I guess, two years," Rob said, staring at the pastor with gaping eyes. "Whuh-why?"

  "Why didn't you let someone know?" Ethan bellowed, standing with the pages clutched in one fist. "Why haven't you gone to the police? Why haven't you done something?"

  "I-I-I can't. I-I'm breaking in. I'm breaking the law myself! I-I'd get in t
rouble if I ... well, big trouble i-if I went to — "

  Ethan's mouth twisted as he interrupted with a voice like rumbling thunder: "And that's more important than the lives of these people?"

  Rob looked as if he wanted to melt into the chair in which he was sitting. "I'm suh-sorry. Really, I-I'm very suh-sorry."

  Seeing how terrified the boy was, slouched in that chair, hands clutching the ends of the armrests, the sandwich scattered over his jeans, Bent stood and went to Ethan's side, taking his arm.

  "It's not his fault," Bent said quietly. "Really, it's not. He's trying to help us. He's given us more information than we could've hoped for, Ethan. Don't take it out on him."

  Ethan fell back on the sofa, the pages slipping from his hand and scattering over the floor. Suddenly his expression changed. He looked sad and immensely weary.

  "I'm sorry," he breathed, his big chest rising and falling rapidly. "I'm very sorry, Rob. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to shout at you, to blame you for everything. I was just upset because my boy ... my boy ...."

  He leaned forward suddenly, burying his face in his big hands, and began to sob like a hurt child ...

  5

  Once Ethan had recovered and calmed down, they read the pages silently, over and over again, late into the night. Finally, they decided to take a break and go out for a walk ... or, in Garner's case, a roll.

  They took the elevator down to the street and just wandered aimlessly, the five of them, sometimes talking, sometimes remaining silent as they crossed noisy streets and strolled busy sidewalks. Coll pushed Garner's wheelchair, telling him to give his arms a rest.

  The chilly San Francisco air — a mixture of sea salt and car exhaust — along with the carnival-like sounds around them, was a relief from the stuffiness of Garner's cluttered apartment. Neon signs of every color filled the night with rainbows of light, some of them flashing on and off, on and off, giving the very air around them a vibrance.

  They passed a newsstand. Magazines were lined up in shelves along a wall. Newspapers from every major city in America were stacked beneath them. Including tabloids.